Bonbright and Hilda walked in together and immediately engaged in comfortable conversation; not the sort of nonsense talk usually resorted to by a young man and a young woman on their first meeting. They had no awkwardness to overcome, nor was either striving to make an impression on the other. Bonbright had forgotten who this girl was, and why she was present, until he saw his mother and Mrs. Lightener approach each other, cast covert glances in their direction, and then observe something with evident pleasure. "They seem attracted by each other," Mrs. Foote said. "He's a nice boy," replied Mrs. Lightener. "I think you're right." "An excellent beginning. Propinquity and opportunity ought to do the rest.... We can see to that." Bonbright understood what they were saying as if he had heard it; bit his lips and looked ruefully from the mothers to Hilda. Her eyes had just swung from the same point to HIS face, and there was a dancing, quizzical light in them. SHE understood, too. Bonbright blushed at this realization. "Isn't it funny?" said Hilda, with a little chuckle. "Mothers are always doing it, though." "What?" he asked, fatuously. "Rubbish!" she said. "Don't pretend not to understand. I knew YOU knew what was up the moment you came into the room and looked at me. ... You--dodged." "I'm sure I didn't," he replied, thrown from his equilibrium by her directness, her frankness, so like her father's landslide directness. "Yes, you dodged. You had made up your mind never to be caught like this again, hadn't you? To make it your life work to keep out of my way?" He dared to look at her directly, and was reassured. "Something like that," he responded, with miraculous frankness for a Foote. "Just because they want us to we don't have to do it," she said, reassuringly. "I suppose not." "Suppose?" "I'm a Foote, you know, Bonbright Foote VII. I do things I'm told to do. The last six generations have planned it all out for me.... We do things according to inherited schedules.... Probably it sounds funny to you, but you haven't any idea what pressure six generations can bring to bear." He was talking jerkily, under stress of emotion. He had never opened his mouth on this subject to a human being before, had not believed it possible to be on such terms with anybody as to permit him to unbosom himself. Yet here he was, baring his woes to a girl he had known but an hour. "Of course," she said, with her soft, throaty chuckle, "if you really feel you have to.... But I haven't any six generations forcing ME. Or do you think yours will take me in hand?"